Thicker than Water
by insertcleverandwittytitlehere
Summary: The Sacred Twenty-Eight are wizarding families of the highest caliber. They are the families who have kept a strong magical bloodline from the dawn of time to this very day. One could almost say the blood running through the veins of the Twenty-Eight is that of pure origin. And somehow, the Shacklebolt family has found itself as part of the elite.


**A/N:** This is Beater 2 of the Chudley Cannons checking in for Season 5 Round 4 of the QLFC.

 **Beater 2:** Write about the Shacklebolts.

 **Additional Prompts:** 2\. (animal) cat, 3. (word) rare, and 10. (dialogue) "You got a package for me?"

 **Word Count (before A/N):** 1,362 words

 **I am not J.K. This is her world.**

 **Special thanks to my teammates for betaing!**

"What's this?" Harrison Shacklebolt gently removed a small, brown parcel from the beak of his tawny owl. "You got a package for me?"

It was firm, but he could bend it in his hands, and it was wrapped neatly, a bow made from twine keeping the contents inside. Turning it over in his hands, Harrison could not place from where it might have come.

"I don't remember ordering anything," he said quietly. It was an early September morning. The day was already proving to be a dreary one, low clouds and drizzling rain painting the sky grey. It didn't help that the Muggle war was still going on.

Harrison had been in the middle of a meager breakfast—some eggs Leota was able to scrape up from their hens—when he heard the cat mewling at the back door, a desperate cry he only made during the air raids.

Thaddeus, their owl, had been trying to get in, package in tow. At first, Harrison thought it was Ministry business. During the night hours, Thaddeus stayed in Harrison's office just in case an urgent message needed to be sent to him. Sometimes, Thaddeus would come home with important documents or other such memorandum if Harrison had requested them the day before.

But Harrison had not requested any documents the day before, and the package puzzled him greatly.

Sitting back down at the table, he pushed his plate aside and placed the parcel in front of him. He ripped it open and extracted a small, black, leather-bound book from inside.

" _The Sacred Twenty-Eight_?" Harrison read the title etched in its cover. He opened the book, scanning the foreward for an explanation.

 _August, 1943. The Sacred Twenty-Eight are wizarding families of the highest caliber_ , the book noted. _They are the families who have kept a strong magical bloodline from the dawn of time to this very day. One could almost say the blood running through the veins of the Twenty-Eight is that of pure origin._

Harrison's eyes scanned further down the page.

 _Each family on the list possesses unique qualities which have earned them the right to call themselves pure-blooded. As a master blood, Purebloods have powerful and rare magic. Spells cast by a Pureblood are superior to those of magical beings with lesser blood status, such as half-bloods. Another important classification must be made. While half-bloods are not an ideal standard, a half-blood remains superior to those of no magical ancestry—the Mudbloods. Mudbloods, as you will find out in these pages, are horrid creatures masquerading as wizards, their blood dirty in all ways imaginable. A Mudblood shan't be taken lightly._

The foreword, Harrison discovered as he flipped through the book, went on for a total of eight pages. As he skimmed, he saw the words 'Pureblood' and 'inferior' and 'master' pop out at him over and over again. Finally, he found the list.

 _The families who can boast a spot as a member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight are as follows: The Abbotts. The Averys. The Blacks…_

And there, down toward the bottom, was _The Shacklebolts_.

Harrison felt bile rise to his mouth. There, printed in ink, was his family's name, scratched down for all eternity as what was essentially a fascist wizarding family.

Harrison slammed the book shut, his thoughts racing on where it could have come from.

Then, as if an icy cold hand had gripped his heart, Harrison shivered. His eyes fixed on the book in front of him, the kitchen fading from his view, warping somewhere in the background like static. All he could see was that damned book.

 _The Sacred Twenty-Eight_. What made him sacred, Harrison wondered. He had to know.

 _The Shacklebolts are an old and wise family, filled with prominent political faces and names. Arnashus Shacklebolt was one of the great wizards who separated magic from the Muggle world. Under Arnashus's guidance, any Muggle who discovered wizardry was beheaded or hanged._

This time, Harrison did not slam the book shut. He had to know how his family came to be sacred, no matter the details. He read on.

 _Pirouette Shacklebolt, daughter to Henrick and Marie Selwyn, married Gravinston Shacklebolt in the early 1700s. Together, they incorporated the Wizengamot into the newly-instated Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Their son, Ulrich Shacklebolt, became Chief Warlock in 1731. By 1734, Ulrich had proven a wise choice by banishing a total of 384 Mudblood wizards from the wizarding world. He ruled their magic a deception so despicable it could have destroyed the sacred balance between wizards and the unintelligent Muggles._

 _Unfortunately, the Shacklebolt name has faded from glory in the last few centuries. Matthias Shacklebolt was revealed to be a blood-traitor, choosing to mingle with the lesser breed of wizard. While Matthias is but a small drop of bad blood, the other members of the Twenty-Eight must remain diligent to keep the Shacklebolt name from dipping further into unfavorable territory._

That was the last of it. The next page began highlighting the Shafiq family, and Harrison was left staring at the pages, trying to understand what he had read.

The information was true, Harrison knew, but the Shacklebolt family had certainly changed since Ulrich. Matthias was Harrison's grandfather, and he had taught his children to be kind and patient with those different from themselves. Muggles weren't bad; they were naive. Purposefully left in the dark to protect them from themselves.

And that blood nonsense. Well, it was terrible. Horrific, really. The Muggle war, the one they were calling the second world war, spoke of master races and the elite. How could something so vile find its way into wizard culture?

"Harrison, love?" Harrison closed the book again, covering the front with his hand. His wife, Leota, stood in front of him, their newborn son nestled in her arms. "Shouldn't you have left for work? What have you got there?"

"Nothing," he said, standing. "It is filth."

"It looks like a book."

"It's vile."

He watched as her beautiful brown eyes filled with worry. "What is it, Harrison?"

Leota remained Harrison's confidante and partner, from the time he met her on the train heading to Hogwarts to that very day in their kitchen. He could withhold the truth, hide the book, destroy it. But the fact remained that whoever sent it knew where to find Thaddeus, and that made Harrison uncomfortable. A Ministry worker actually believed in the words from that book. _And_ they thought he would agree.

"It's a nasty book, filled with horrible things," he said, dropping the incriminating thing on the table. "Burn it later, will you?"

"Burn a book?"

"It's elitist scrabble," he explained. "It appears as though an anonymous author has taken it upon himself to rank wizarding families by blood purity."

Leota tilted her head. "Blood purity?"

"It depends on how much magic is in your family bloodline. You and I are what the book calls pure-blooded. Only wizards make up our ancestries."

"Should I read it?" Leota reached out a hand, but Harrison stopped her.

"I can't force you not to," he sighed, "but I can ask that you wait until I'm gone."

"Is it that bad?"

He nodded. Then Harrison wrapped his wife in his arms, their baby safe between them. "Just know this: Kingsley will never have to worry about what that book says. He will grow up wise and fair. Blood purity be damned."

Kingsley let out a soft gurgling noise, and both his parents sighed.

"Perhaps," Leota pulled away from her husband's embrace, leaving the baby in his arms, "we should just toss it in the fire now."

She picked up the leather-bound book from the table, took it to the fireplace, and dropped it in. Extracting her wand from her skirt, she spoke clearly and evenly. "Incendio."

The book burst into flames, the fire licking at the now curling pages. Harrison felt the heat coming off the surface and smelled the distinct scent of hide-material melting. When the book was finally gone from their lives, Harrison looked at the sleeping baby in his arms and smiled. "All for you, Kingsley. Who we are and what we believe is all for you."


End file.
